Former Smuggler Who Trafficked 300kg of Meth Reveals North Korean Route and 10-Year Life on the Run

Yukio Aoyama, 77 years old. A former senior member of a secondary organization under the Sumiyoshi-kai syndicate and a former methamphetamine courier. Once placed on a nationwide wanted list and even pursued by Interpol, this man was arrested for the attempted smuggling and possession of 300 kilograms of methamphetamine — valued at 18 billion yen at the time — via the North Korean route.

In 2008, he was sentenced to 15 years in prison and served his time at Yokohama Prison. Since his release in November 2023, he has been living as an ordinary citizen.

“I’ve had heart surgery, and I don’t have much time left. I’ll tell you everything I’ve experienced.”

The former courier opened up about the dramatic and, in many ways, confessional story of his life.

Read part one here: “There isn’t another Japanese person who knows as much about North Korea’s meth trade as I do” — a former courier confesses to smuggling 300 kg of methamphetamine.

The hidden side of illegal entry

In the late 1980s, the 18th Fujisan-maru Incident, in which two Japanese crew members including Isamu Beniko were falsely detained for seven years in North Korea on suspicion of espionage, drew public attention. Amidst that atmosphere, Aoyama also found himself making unexpected connections with certain organizations. He recalls:

“I was approached by the Public Security Bureau. A Chinese-owned company in Bangkok, which had ties to North Korea and was acquainted with me, asked me to help them connect with the North. Through my introduction, the Public Security managed to make contact with the North Korean side. I remember thinking, ‘I’ve now done the Public Security Bureau — and by extension, the Japanese government — a favor.’”

Aoyama was told by a passport forger based in Hong Kong that getting into North Korea illegally is easy. Following their advice, he successfully entered the country via Beijing and Macau, even learning how to avoid getting his passport stamped so there would be no record of his entry.

Around this time, through a Taiwanese intermediary, Aoyama was approached for a large-scale methamphetamine deal via the North Korean route. After scouting the smuggling site himself, his resolve only deepened.

“At the time, it was common to smuggle meth by hiding it in things like car or motorcycle oil shipped in by boat. But that method couldn’t carry much, and the risks were high. Hong Kong, once a loose point of entry, had tightened up, and Taiwanese routes were under increasing police scrutiny. Even if you got away with it once, you’d get caught the second time. So I figured, why not pull off a huge job in one go? And the only way to do that was through the North Korean route.”

Aoyama crossed into North Korea hoping to pull off this final job and then leave the underworld behind. What awaited him there, however, were scenes beyond belief.

Upon arriving at the airport, a man — apparently military — picked him up in an old Mercedes and brought him to a military guesthouse. The luxurious accommodations were like those of a high-end hotel, complete with personal maids and elaborate North Korean cuisine. He was even offered a sample of the product. The trip it induced was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, keeping him awake for three straight days.

“I asked why North Korea could produce such high-quality product, and was told, ‘It’s made by Taiwanese technicians.’ Apparently, meth production requires skilled technicians, most of whom were Taiwanese. I was stunned that they were working there in North Korea. I also heard there were five military-run facilities producing meth.”

After several days, 300 kilograms of meth were loaded onto a truck bound for Nampo Port. Although smuggling via South Korea was considered, local collaborators refused, saying it’ll turn into an international incident.

When they arrived in Nampo, a modified spy vessel — a converted North Korean fishing boat — was waiting. The plan was to transfer the drugs onto fishing boats scattered across Japan. The ship was identical to the one used in the 2001 Kyushu Southwest Sea Spy Boat Incident, when a deadly firefight with the Japan Coast Guard left 10 dead.

However — the plan quickly unraveled due to human error.

“Nampo was under surveillance by American satellites. On top of that, the Korean writing they’d painted over began to peel, revealing the Japanese characters underneath meant for disguise. The Americans got suspicious and notified Japan. The Japan Coast Guard and police secretly coordinated and began tracking them.”

In August 1998, while Aoyama had already flown back to Pyongyang, he received word from the crew: “We’re being tailed.” In order to land the cargo, they had to evade the authorities. Aoyama sought help from powerful Yamaguchi-gumi-affiliated groups, putting aside gang rivalries. Ultimately, before the boat could land at Tosashimizu Port in Kochi Prefecture, Aoyama and the leadership gave the order: “Dump the meth into the sea.”

At the end of a life on the run

After entering Tosashimizu Port, the crew members were surrounded by about 30 investigators. However, since the methamphetamine had already been dumped into the sea, nothing was found. Aoyama and two other senior members had planned to later rent scuba diving equipment and retrieve the drugs from underwater — but even here, things didn’t go as expected.

“The tide was too strong, and the methamphetamine, packed in plastic bags, drifted out toward Cape Ashizuri, Mie, and off the coast of Aichi, where it was recovered by the prefectural police. When I saw the news report saying methamphetamine was discovered offshore, I resigned myself. I was put on the nationwide wanted list, and my long life on the run began.”

In an era when modern security cameras are highly sophisticated, it might be unimaginable, but Aoyama says, back then, escaping wasn’t all that difficult. He received a monthly 250,000-yen allowance from syndicate associates and sometimes went out in public wearing only a hat and glasses as a simple disguise.

“I used to jog in a tank top and shorts right in front of police boxes. I made a point of acting boldly, even if they had my wanted poster. If you behave as usual, surprisingly, no one notices. But I hardly contacted anyone.”

Living in a modest apartment in Ito City, Shizuoka, wasn’t particularly hard either. Yet, the psychological burden of having his wanted posters posted at local supermarkets and a bounty on his head made it difficult to stay in one place for long.

From Shizuoka, he moved around to Osaka, Shikoku, Hokkaido, and Tokyo. However, after the arrests following the aforementioned “Kyushu Southwest Sea Area Spy Ship Incident,” his financial support was cut off. With his funds dwindling, Aoyama eventually settled in Kamagaya City, Chiba Prefecture — in a dilapidated, rent-free special circumstances apartment arranged through an acquaintance. His housemates were a couple addicted to methamphetamine and their child. As the couple neglected the child, Aoyama took care of the youngster, playing with them.

But one day, the couple left, saying they were going to work and disappeared. Not long after, six police officers arrived at the apartment and apprehended Aoyama — a dramatic arrest just three weeks before the statute of limitations expired.

“It’s ironic, you know — a guy making money from meth ends up getting sold out by fellow addicts who wanted drug money themselves. Honestly, I didn’t have the exact date of the statute of limitations in my head. If I’d known, I would’ve definitely escaped. But, truthfully, when they caught me, I felt relieved. I’d even considered turning myself in. Running endlessly after doing bad things was exhausting.”

The forfeiture order imposed on Aoyama and his associates totaled 1.4 billion yen. His involvement in countless drug crimes was undeniable. And yet, Aoyama said, “I have no regrets,” and added this at the end:

“If I were still active, I’d probably try to save face — but I’m done. That’s why I’ve spoken honestly, hoping to keep drug crimes from spreading. I’ve learned the hard way how terrifying meth really is.”

And with those words, Aoyama disappeared into the crowd once again.

From the June 6-13, 2025 issue of “FRIDAY”